God Is Dead Doubt Has Perfect Dominion
by empathyjunkie
Summary: Ten days after the downfall of Light Yagami at the Yellow Box, Agent Stephen Loud struggles to understand the implications of Kira's reign, and it's effects on the prosecuting attorney he came to be familiar with. One-shot, contains angst and Stephen saying "yes, sir" as many times as is reasonable.


Somehow, I felt that this should be something that brought me relief. Pure, instinctual, salacious relief - like the way a kid feels when he's finally convinced his parents to leave the light on, because it will keep the monsters away. He's being irrational – the light has no meaning outside of his own mind, but because his own reality has been respected and obeyed, he feels safe.

Well, intellect, strategy, and courage have beaten a tyrannical mass-murderer, but in some corner of my mind I realize that it's not enough and never will be. I mean, the light-bulb is a product of human intellect, but it cannot prevent the monsters from pooling in the darkness.

Nothing can.

I have the urge to grind my teeth, but my jaw is already sore, so instead, I find my hand tightening into a conspicuous fist. I might as well have started yelling and smashing the many monitors that line the walls because Near is observant, silent, and seems as anxious for some kind of distraction as I am, though we show this very differently. We are alone in the echoing room; Halle and the Commander are consulting with the Japanese Task Force - a meeting I was grateful not to have to attend. Even though they are the closest thing we have to allies as the world slowly comes to grips with Kira's absence, I'm afraid that, mere weeks after the Yellow Box, I will only see the look of terror and disappointment I beheld in their eyes, watching their trusted superior crumble under the weight of truth. They were very reasonable people and I wish them well.

"Gevanni," Near's voice isn't loud enough to surprise me. Due to my tightly-wound state, I answer stringently.

"Yes, sir?"

"As of today, everything related to the Kira case is gone and ended."

My eyes widen. Yesterday he had methodically rid himself of the puppets he had made of each of us - the SPK, Task Force, and even those designed after Kira and X-Kira. Truthfully, I was glad to see them go. There was something unnerving about watching a mini-me hop strategically through Near's planning process. But there's something glum about his tone, that betrays the gravity of this declaration. I guess that what he's trying to convey is multi-dimensional and probably carries an ulterior motive, but I decide that I'm too tired to attempt to dissect it all. I lean back in my chair, lowering my head so that my eyes appear to be fixated on the keyboard in front of me.

"What do you mean, exactly?"

He expected such a question, and takes a moment to reply."The prosecutor, Mikami Teru, is dead."

_What?_

"He committed suicide," Near continues, his voice colored with weariness. "Late last evening he appeared to be panicking and growing increasingly agitated; I suppose the confusion at his incarceration was too much to handle, considering his rigid sense of justice. It depends on what he could actually remember without the notebook by his side."

I stare into the rapidly blurring screen of the monitor until I have to close my eyes altogether. I'm not surprised. Should I be? It makes perfect sense. Yet uneasiness spreads through my body as if it's riding on my blood.

"Near," I sound breathless because I desperately wish I could stop myself from speaking, "why are you telling me this? There's no need to provide me with details, especially since the end result is of little consequence."

"No, it's not of much consequence," Near responds, in the same tone. "Unless you consider the fact that it was primarily your efforts that allowed us to apprehend him safely. Anyway, whether you needed to know it or not, I wanted to alert you, at my discretion. Why make such an effort to question it?"

_Because I want this to be over. Because this feels like a test. Because I'm still afraid, Near. _

"I-I'm sorry; I appreciate that you feel you -"

"Don't apologize," he mutters. "At this stage in the game, all I really require of you is logistical work. Please stop acting as if you have yet to prove yourself to me as a rational and valuable member of this team."

Despite the monotone in which this is spoken, he sounds sincere. I remain silent.

Near's fingers go to his temples and he tugs at a few strands of silver hair. The interaction has ended, and his mind has returned to the countless problems and puzzles that likely dwell beneath his somber eyes. I begin to spin my chair back toward the monitor, but I find myself gazing down at the detective for a moment longer than necessary.

His name is Nate River.

Of course I remember. No number of days could erase the sight of that notebook page from my mind.

For some reason, I never imagined N would have such a commonplace name. It sounds idiotic to admit it. Perhaps it was because I knew so little of N when I joined the SPK. Only Commander Rester had any previous relationship with him. The remaining members knew the meaning of his identity only._ He was L._ Mystery. Genius. Justice. He was the world's greatest detective, and he was recruiting us to aid in this unprecedented, extraordinary case.

He was a young man who built private empires out of playing cards.

I was quite nervous upon meeting him, if I remember rightly. I kept my back straight and my shoulders squared, meeting his every command with an apt, diligent response. Perhaps it could all be attributed to my respect for his position and intellect, but I know the truth. For a long time, I saw him as the only one capable of bringing the madness and devastation to an end, and for that reason, I had prepared myself to do anything he should require of me. Was I wrong to put my faith in him? He had brought Kira's reign to an end. I had performed my part with excellence; I knew that. I had risked my life. We had been victorious.

Yet the manner of our victory causes me uneasiness.

The notebooks were now nothing but ash - the pages upon pages of names – identities – consumed by flames in a matter of minutes, but not redeemed. Unwittingly, I see before me the image of _my name _along with the names of Kira's last enemies, written in a straight line on that notebook page I had created to deceive Kira's accomplice. A cold sweat had broken over me then. I had been condemned to death, in an act of faith, simply because another human being wished it.

The look in the prosecutor's eyes was enough to make me balk. Such fanatic joy and anticipation I had never beheld before, and it caused me to lapse into panic, as if I truly _did _deserve death. Of course, the thought was born out of fear, but it strikes me now that even after we collected the fake notebook and I beheld my name again, I was never truly able to feel affronted.

I felt no rage at being condemned. I felt no anger at being listed in a book where the names of heinous criminals were stored. Besides, we escaped death. We survived. Kira was dead, killed by the hand of the Shinigami I dreaded to meet on New Year's Eve. It had all worked out rightly, hadn't it?

I catch the faintest glimpse of my reflection in the monitor, colored blue. As if I read it in my eyes, I suddenly realize what is causing this feeling of doubt, and I watch my brows crease; I watch my jaw tighten.

It doesn't seem proper - it doesn't seem like the correct way for the world to work - that someone who struggled so fervently toward justice should find themselves committing atrocities against it. Mikami Teru's fate upsets me.

I pause for a moment, tempted to laugh at myself for having such a merciful thought, yet I cannot deny the accuracy of this act of self-analysis. I watched him commit murder - I watched him commit _my _murder, yet I feel no satisfaction now that he's dead. Isn't he a criminal? Logically, his death is a favorable outcome. Having been allowed to continue, how many more human being would have died without fair representation in court?

If _he_ had been sentenced to death by a judge and jury, would I feel the same?

But it's not use. I've been taught to analyze, and from the moment I first accepted the fact that Mikami Teru was X-Kira, I'd been analyzing his movements. His rigidity. His passion for his career. The rapt, brooding attitude he bore when walking through a crowded street, as if he alone had been blessed with the knowledge of truth. Through the weeks of living beside him - just one step to the side and out of his line of sight - I had formed many conclusions through the haze of adrenaline. I guess one of them was that, even if he had been misled by Kira's agenda, he truly believed himself to be just. I accepted the possibility of death the moment I was assigned to be X-Kira's shadow, but this was a different kind of fear.

I was afraid of the implications of this paradox. A few weeks ago, there were too many pressing matters to occupy my thoughts, stealing my attention and focus. Now, I realize that the anomaly remains, and Mikami Teru's death has done nothing to solve it for me.

I think back to all the previous cases I've worked; I think back to all the previous lessons I've learned. In those times, I could easily call the darkness cruelty and the light justice. Some choose to abandon reason and morality, and some do not. They blame circumstances, peers, or the way they were raised, but ultimately, it's their choice. It sounds narrow-minded, but that's just what I _want_ to believe. I want believe that, unless mentally deficient; everyone has the power to conduct their lives according to morality.

I never assumed that external forces could twist a righteous man or woman into an unrighteous one without their knowledge. I can't help but think of the prosecutor's disillusionment. It terrifies me. A man so staunch and so methodical … how could he have mistaken a flawed, delusional human being for a god? A man so dedicated to what was righteous, meaningful, and above imperfection – if it was possible for him to be deceived, no one was safe. Corruption could find its way into any mind, even as it clung to truth.

It angers me. Gods of death? They shouldn't be allowed to disrupt our world. This is a world for humanity, and if we strive to achieve what is right, we should be allowed to attain it. It's not right, otherwise.

"Gevanni?" It's Near again. Thank God.

"Yes?"

"You won't take this the right way, but you'll likely be free to return to the States in a matter of days, now that our objective has been satisfied. Please, do so whenever you see fit."

An angry flush comes over my face. I feel my expression becoming nothing less than murderous.

"No, not until we've disbanded; I'm happy to stay in Japan as long as you plan to, Near."

"Our very identification will be meaningless after today," he replies thoughtfully. "The Special Provision for Kira is no longer necessary. Anyway, if you remember correctly, I arrived here with Commander Rester. I don't require an escort when I travel. Besides," he doesn't look at me, but his next words strike me as infinitely more personal, "you look distracted."

I pause. Would he have spoken this way to Halle? Would he have _cause _to? No.

Near gives a small sigh of acceptance, but he doesn't seem irritated. Instead, he seems uncomfortable even as he reaches for a toy airplane a few feet away. Upon straightening up, he pointedly mumbles,

"Things didn't go exactly as I wanted them to, either."

"Sir, as long as people will stop being murdered by the thousands simply because they aren't living up to an arbitrary standard," – not arbitrary; morally sound, until taken to extremes – "I'm satisfied with our efforts."

"So am I. You're missing the point," the airplane is flying through the chilled air of the room now, and Near's eyes follow it doggedly. "I told you, Gevanni, the Kira Case is over, and L is victorious. Whether you stay here in Japan or not, whatever you prioritized before you joined the SPK ... you're free to prioritize again."

Near returns to his thoughtful revere, and I am lost back under the tide of my thoughts.

My priorities?

I know what they have been for the entirety of my career: to protect the rights of my fellow man; provide humanity with a safe, constructive social structure that is allowed to evolve but not devolve. Law, justice, goodness. But that was before I realized the frailty of even those staples of existence. They are so frail, they can be twisted into the bitterest of social crimes, and those who uphold them can likewise be twisted … broken … destroyed.

I realize that I'm shaking.

I apply knowledge to the situation, and breathe deeply.

I can't tell if it helps.


End file.
